


slow burner

by baberahamlinkin



Series: The Bonmona Files [1]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Biting, Counter Sex, Early Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Kitchen Sex, NSFW, Naked Cuddling, OC/OC - Freeform, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Scratching, Smut, Telepathy, Villain/Villain, bonnie's a biter and i apologize, bonnie's too smug for her own good, f/f - Freeform, mona is too tho don't get me wrong, nothing beats step/step ships imo, personally i love them, some metaphors, they're in love but you can only see it rn if you squint, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baberahamlinkin/pseuds/baberahamlinkin
Summary: You don't do sleepovers. You don't think she does either. Somehow, though, she's still waking up in your bed.
Relationships: Ramona Chase/Bonnibel Hanson, Step/Step, Venari/Rankor
Series: The Bonmona Files [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048036
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	slow burner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siren_call](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siren_call/gifts).



Since when’s the last time you’ve  _ ever _ done sleepovers? You’ve never really had anyone to trust before, not like this, but having someone in bed with you feels… nice, it feels relaxing. Mona is beside youー she has her back to you, sides steadily rising and falling as she dozes. She stirs in her sleep and rolls onto her back and you take the opportunity to  _ strike. _ Well, not really. Instead you crawl atop her, sandwiching your waist between her legs and resting your head upon her chest. Her arms lazily wrap around you in a sleepy embrace. She’s warm, incredibly so, and she clings to you like an octopus. You wouldn’t have really pegged her for a cuddler if you didn’t know her. Soon her legs wrap around you too and her heels dig into the small of your back, but it’s not painful. It makes you feel almost human, if anything. It makes you feel tangible, corporeal… it takes away the artificiality of your being, if only for a little while. You know things like these tend to be temporary, but for now you’re holding onto it as tightly as a child holds the string of a kite on a windy day.

Briefly, as you glance at the clockー it’s very early, if you had the curtains pulled back the sun wouldn’t even be upー, you wonder if you make her feel the same way… not that she’d ever tell you, Mona isn’t the type of person to voice her feelings. You don’t blame her for that, either, as you huff quietly into her skin to avoid yawning. You bury your face into her chest, the tip of your nose bumping into her collarbone, and close your eyes. It’s so easy to sink back into sleep with her around that it almost makes you suspicious. Maybe it’s because you can relax around her, maybe it’s because she’s comfortable. Maybe it’s just the fact that sleeping with her here makes you feel less exposed, less vulnerable. Maybe it’s just a combination of all of the above. 

When you wake up again Mona is no longer beneath you and, admittedly, you miss her presence. You wonder if she’s decided to leave early, and if that’s the case you find yourself a little… not offended, maybe, but rather wounded she didn’t say goodbye. You pout silently to yourself and glance at the clockー it’s nearly noon, which surprises you. When’s the last time you got this much sleep? You press your hands against the mess of sheets beneath you and push yourself into a sitting position. The curtains are still drawn, giving your room a sour and melancholy gloom to it. You decide you’ll open them laterー probably not a good idea right now, not when you don’t have any clothes on. You finally kick your legs over the edge of your bed and stand, sighing softly as your hairー unkempt and tousled from last nightー falls into your eyes. You exhale softly and clear it from your gaze as you bend down to search for your clothes. You find your pants easily enough, but it seems your shirt has mysteriously disappeared. You don’t quite feel like wearing your suit pants at the moment so you just rifle through your drawers and find a pair of sweatpants. They’ll do for now, you decide, and you wrestle them on. 

You think maybe you’ve left your shirt out in the living room, or maybe the kitchen, so you might have luck finding them there. You push the bedroom door open and you’re greeted with the slight chill from the air conditioning as you step into the short hallway that leads down to your living room. You hadn’t really felt it earlier with all the blankets and Mona’s company, but you definitely feel it now. You rub at the goosebumps that prickle along your forearm and bicep, trying to will them down, as your fingers glide over your scarred skin. Your eyes skim over your living roomー there’s a dog toy here and there and Chunk’s laying in his dog bed, asleep, but no shirt. You glance toward the half wall that divides the kitchen and living room and you almost jolt, startled. Mona’s at the fridge, silver door open, and she’s got your carton of chocolate milk tilted to her lips. Your eyes drag over her slowly, taking her and the broken codes of orange upon her pale skin andー  _ huh.  _ So that’s where your shirt is. The corners of your lips twist into a cool, lax smile and your conscious stretches into hers like a cat on a sunny windowsill. Her brushes over yours in return and you sigh quietly, contentedly, as you head to her. 

You nearly bump your shoulder against the wall when you turn around itー you’re trying to act cool. You don’t know why, you don’t think you  _ have _ to around Mona… but it doesn’t help to try. You lean against her, resting your chin upon her shoulder and your hands upon her hips. You tilt your head to press your lips to her pulsepoint and murmur, “Good morning.” 

“Morning.” She responds as she recaps the carton. You kiss her neck again, humming softly against the soft skin, and her curly hair brushes against your cheek. You lean into her for a moment and allow yourself to memorize the moment before you leave her side to rifle through the kitchen cabinets for breakfast. You settle on a package of cherry poptarts and set a mental reminder that you need to buy more groceries. You’re just about to open the silvery packaging when a very vivid, very specific memory flashes through your mindー it feels real, but it’s not the usual memories you get. It’s you and her, here together, and  _ oh _ ー you stiffen against the counter for a moment until you realize… that’s not your memory, is it? It’s not even a memory… is it? You blink, still confused, and glance back at Mona. She’s smirking at you as she leans against the fridge, head tilted back and her hair falling into her eyes at dangerous angles. 

“Oh,” you huff in mock annoyance despite the sly, wolfish grin that splits across your lips, “is  _ that  _ what you want?” She doesn’t answer you, not directly really. Instead she answers you with another  _ daydream _ and you suppress a quiet moan because even in your head it feels  _ real _ . You grab her by the collar of your shirt and pull her close. Her hands find your shoulders and rest there as you kiss her. It’s always electrifying when you kiss herー not like being struck by lightning because that’s too random, but more or less like you’re sticking a fork into an outlet. There’s always an edge to it, a little reminder that neither of you are what you seem; as evidenced by the glyphs on your skin. Your tongue darts across the scar on her lower lip and she opens her mouth under yours to let you in. She tastes like chocolate milk, cigarette smoke, and  _ home _ ー not that you’d ever tell her that last part. You pull away from her to catch your breath and when you do you bend down and hook your hands behind her knees. Her nails dig into your shoulder slightly as you lift her onto the (presently) clean marble countertop. 

Once she’s situated you lean in again, eager to capture her lips for your own, and dig your teeth into her lower lip. Mona exhales quietly, grip tightening again before she releases you, and once you relieve the pressure on her lip she breaks away from you. She goes for your neck and you bare your skin to her willingly, hissing between clenched teeth when she bites into the cord of your neck. You brush aside the unbuttoned fabric of your shirt and press your hand against her collarbone. You run your other hand up the smooth skin of her thigh and suck at her earlobe when your fingers finally loop around the waistband of her underwear to tug at the material where it meets her hip. Her hands roam the scarred expanse of skin that is your torso in turn, fingertips dancing across fading scars and highlighted symbols. It’s still so foreign to you, so odd, that she’s  _ like _ you: a simulation of personhood, a cuckoo. It’s so odd to you all the similarities you share, that in the end the only thing that’s different is your barcodes and your tattoos.

But that’s enough thinking for now. You don’t have to think when you’re with her. Not all the time, anyways, and that’s a relief (not that you think in general). Instead you focus on pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to her ear and jaw as you brush a knuckle against the fabric between her legs. She tenses a little and you grin against the patch of skin behind Mona’s ear. You press your knuckle against her and listen to Mona gasp outwardly as she bares her teeth against your neck. Her breath is warm there and it sends chills down your spine. You pull the hand you’ve got between her legs away for a moment and settle your free hand against her hip. Then you run the fingers of your other hand up the cool, soft skin of her inner thigh and under the lining of her underwear. Your fingertips glide against her and she jerks into your hand.

“Fuck, Hanson,” She groans into your neck and you can’t help but sneer. It’s easier to pretend to be mean than it is to be affectionate and soothing.

“What?” You play dumb. “Need something, Chase?” You don’t really give her a moment to answer. Your thumb bumps against her clit and she presses against your body and digs her nails in. You hiss a silent curse, barely audible, and instead busy your mouth with her neck and shoulder. Your lips kiss between skin and stripes of orange indiscriminately and press a couple of your fingers into her. That’s when the teeth really sink in and your muscles twinge but you can’t really find it in you to care. You didn’t really expect her to be so wet, not so soon at least, and you give your fingers a couple experimental curls. It seems to work for her and she makes a strangled noise against you and you can’t help but grin so you keep moving against her.

You like her like this, here with you, when neither of you are as… angry? Hateful? You’re not sure, really, but it’s always different when it’s just the two of youー when neither of you are hiding behind masks. Sure, sometimes she’s still standoffish, but it’s not like you can blame her for that. After everything that you’ve both been through, you think you’re both allowed some resent and bitterness; that you’re allowed to be angry and distant. You just wish she knew she didn’t have to act that way around  _ you.  _

“Lift your hips.” You say after a moment, stilling your hand, and Mona draws back to quirk an eyebrow at you. 

“Why?” She asks dryly, maybe annoyed that you’re not doing anything anymore, and you flash her a sly, crooked grin as she tries to grind into your hand. You let her.

“Just trust me, Chase.” You laugh, bemused, and maybe you’re lucky she listens. She leans back, her hands on either side of her hips, and she lifts her hips for you. You squeeze her hip with your free hand almost affectionately and withdraw your other hand. She groans quietly when you do, but she doesn’t seem to object when you tug her underwear down and off, smearing some of her slick against her groin. The noise she makes when her skin presses against the still-cool marble is musical and you want to hear it again. You kiss her briefly, almost in thanks, before you kiss downward and into the hollow of your throat. Her chin digs into the top of your head for a moment until you move downward and between her breasts, down the patterned orange of her abdomen and to her belly button. You’re beginning to sink to your knees now, falling in silent supplication to herー and her aloneー as you grab her by her legs and pull her down with you until she’s on her own two feet, hands gripping the edge of the counter, and she’s staring down at you. 

You lean upward and draw your tongue along the wetness you’ve accidentally dabbled onto her groin, taking care of your own mess, and you sink your teeth into the soft skin. 

“Fuck,” She hisses, a hand moving to tangle with your hair. She tugs at it and there’s a pleasant sort of pain that comes with it. You don’t mind, not really. When you release the pressure of your bite you kiss there and wash your tongue over the spot you’ve bitten, your fingertips digging into her thighs as she tugs again. You smile to no one but yourself and move to kiss her pubic bone and your tongue flicks across the skin there, too, before you kiss downward and between her legs. You lap at her, spine tingling at the needy noise she makes, and your tongue barely parts her folds. You repeat the action and she huffs, tugging at your hair again, and you sneer. 

“Be patient.” You chide and she grumbles in response.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying to fuck  _ you _ .” You tell her, smug, before you turn your attention back to her. This time when you drag your tongue against her, you allow yourself to delve inward and her grip on you tightens. You focus your tongue on her clit, circling and striking when need be, and bring one of your hands back up and slip your fingers back inside of her. She keens against you, legs stiffening, and the corners of your mouth twist upward in a smirk as her free hand flies to grip your shoulder to steady herself. Mona’s breath is shallow, ragged, and almost harsh and you love it. You kind of love her, you think, but you’re not sure because it’s not something you’re used to and you don’t think it’s something that either of you are ready to discuss. 

You go slow and some of your strokes are teasing. You know what she likes by now, but sometimes you like being uncooperative. Besides, you like hearing the frustrated noises she makes when you tease her dissipate into pleasure. She rocks against you nonetheless, fingers still tangled in your hair, and you decide you’re lucky she’s not making a mess of your countertopー it’s expensive, and you don’t need to ruin it. You dig your thumbnail into her thighー not enough to hurt, just to provide some source of external stimulationー and listen to those pretty sing-song noises catch in her throat while you work her over, pleased with your handiwork. 

Vaguely, in the corners of your mind, you think it would be nice to get used to something like thisー maybe not just the fucking, althought that’s a plus, but just… waking up with her, to her. You wonder if she’d ever allow you that but you’re not sure and you’re not going to make yourself any promises because you remind yourself that things like these tend to be temporary for people like you.

But do you want it to be? It’s a question you’ve found yourself asking before, but you’ve never been certain. Part of you thinks you might be certain now, but you remind yourself that this is just sex and it’s nothing exclusive. But could it be? Would she want you despite everything? Your first meeting, at least seeing her with her mask off, hadn’t been anything conventional. Your first kiss hadn’t even been real, eitherー it had been in your minds; with her hand around your throat, squeezing, and her shirt bunched in your fist. There’s a sharp burning sensation that runs up your shoulder blade and against your shoulder that startles you from your thoughts. You blink, confused and surprised.

“Fuck,” Mona groans and she pulls her shaking hand from your shoulderー oh, she’s scratched you. Then she quietly adds, “I’m sorry,” and you think she’s put her hand back against the counter again. 

“Don’t worry, Chase,” You say as you pull back to look at her. She looks like some half-wild creature, chest heaving and eyes wide, curls of dark hair falling into her pale (although slightly reddened) face. You grin at her and grab her hand, pulling it back down to you. “I like it, it’s fine.” She grips you again though it’s faltering and you put your mouth against her again. She’s always told you you have a smart mouth, and you’re glad to put it to use in a way she likes as you steady her with your free hand again. Fuck, you wish you could look at her again. She’s so beautiful in a way that’s savage and treacherous and you love itー you’ve always been a reckless idiot, a daredevil chasing some high one way or another; through violence, extortion, blood…  _ her _ . 

Ramona Chase.

_ Venari _ . 

She’s a hunter, a predator, and you’re not sure what that makes you. Prey, maybe? But prey isn’t willing, not like you, and you’re not afraid to be chewed up and spit out because that’s your speciality. You take the abuse and the horror life gives you and you give it back, with interest, to anyone you can because that’s just how you know to survive. You are nothing good, you are nothing special, and neither is she and maybe that’s why she’s been thrown at you. But it doesn’t matter, does it? You don’t care about all the things she’s done, about the pasts she may have, because that’s all water under the bridge and you know more than anything that both of you are trying to destroy the pasts that have made you.

So you’re willing to take the marks she’s going to give youー the ones she’s giving you here and now, marking you with her nails, and the ones she’ll give you on the battlefieldー just to chase this high, to keep some bit of her here with you; maybe beside you, maybe in your memories. You’re content to take what you can get, and if you get herー or even just a sliver of herー you think you’ll be content. Her legs shift restlessly, thigh brushing against your cheek, and you zone back in as her cries rise in pitch as she paints the orange on your body with red lines. She’s shaking in entirety now and she grips you like a lifeline and you’re doing your best to hold her steady. You almost reach out to her with your mind but you stop yourselfー you don’t think you’re welcome there, not now anyways, so you stay away. She’s tightening around your fingers now and you know she’s close, and it doesn’t take long for her to topple over the edge. You stop when she comes because she grips you in a way that seems to say  _ don’t move _ and for once you’re feeling somewhat obedient. 

Instead you press messy kisses to her thigh, distracting yourself from the pleasant buzz that radiates from her, until her grip on you loosens. You wonder if your shoulder will be sore tomorrow, or even later, but then you remind yourself that you’re used to carrying your armor so it probably won’t. Oh, well; at least the scratches will sting and remind you of her and you’re content to live in the moment as long as you can until the coffee maker dings. 

You blink and glance up at her, head tilted, and say, “I didn’t know you were making coffee.”

She takes a moment to catch her breath before she replies with, “You didn’t ask.”

You’re annoyed for a second, but then you shrug and offer a soft chuckle and get to your feet so you can kiss her. Her lips are soft against yours as you blindly reach behind her to open your cabinet. You know your house well enough by now, anyways, and she’s standing right in front of the cabinet where you keep your cups. Your fingers make contact with the handle of one of your mugs and you grasp it so you can pull it out and offer it to her. You press it into her hands and she accepts when you pull back and kiss her cheek, too.

“Do you want some?” She asks and you shake your head. 

“No,” you hum, “but thank you.” You return to your poptarts and half-expect another daydream, but it doesn’t come. You finally tear open the packaging and sink your teeth into your (second) breakfast, leaning back against the counter as you watch her fill her mug. Your shirt looks better on her than it does on you, even when it’s pushed half-way off her shoulders and pools at her elbows; even when the collar’s all crumpled. It gives her an almost domestic look, sort of like the two of you have been doing this for years. 

“Find something you like?” She asks you. She can feel you staring, can’t she? Mona doesn’t bother looking at you yet, not that you mind, and you smirk.

“There’s a lot to choose from.” You tell her. You fumble on asking her if she’s comfortable or if she’s comfy in your clothes, and your brain settles on “Comft?” You blink at your own audible error, but she glances at you. She’s smiling over the lip of the mug, an eyebrow quirked curiously, at your fluke. You admire her for a moment before you tell her, “I like your smile. Reminds me of rainy days.”

Maybe some people would take it as an insult, but you love the rain. It’s always so cold, so refreshing, against your skin and it always feels like it’s washing all your misdemeanors and crimes away when you walk through it. Instead Mona’s mouth twists at an odd angle to prevent her smile from widening, and you just grin in response and meander toward her.

“You’re cute when you pout, too, though.” You tell her, grinning like an idiot, and she rolls her eyes.

“Shut up, Bon.” Mona says. 

You just chuckle, “May I?” You ask as you take the mug from her hands. You don’t bother waiting for her answer as you take a sip and hand it back. You don’t like coffee, not really, but you like pissing her off. She doesn’t seem angry, though. Instead she just offers her own soft chuckle.

“Thought you didn’t want any?” Mona asks, and you shrug.

“Maybe I just want it ‘cause it’s yours.” You tease, still grinning. 

Yeah, you could get used to this.


End file.
